


Meat

by heatdeath (aphelion)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bottom Prompto Argentum, Come Inflation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Excessive Amounts of Come, Fantasy Animal Death, Hurt/No Comfort, Knotting, M/M, No Safeword, Pheromones, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Violence, Submissive Prompto Argentum, Suicidal Thoughts, beastiality, monster/human, monsterfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion/pseuds/heatdeath
Summary: When the thing hit him from behind, it felt for a moment like his back had been broken. It was crushing his body under its massive weight, and he could  hardly take a breath. He didn’t have the wherewithal to struggle. It closed its stinking jaws around his throat, and he thought, well, at least it’ll be a quick death.And then his nose was filled with a sweeter scent.





	Meat

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written as a result of a poll i did on twitter. it was meant to be short, but i think it's now the longest thing i've ever completed! LMAO so yay for that. like all of my writing, it was done entirely for fun, so i'm not sure about the structure. but i enjoyed writing it, so who cares. i hope you enjoy reading it! 
> 
> also, i'm my only beta, so i want to apologize for any typos ahead of time.
> 
> and lastly, please heed the warnings. this fic is all id. i went into it to write semi-silly monsterfucking, and then i forgot like 99% of the silly. the noctis/prompto here is not very happy, either. i love them, but it just means i have to hurt them more.
> 
> thanks! (and if you want to add me on twitter, you can find me @hidraean <3)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Prompto had been told on more than one occasion that he had a death wish. He didn’t agree. He didn’t have a death wish. He just didn’t have a lot of common sense.

It was hard for him to think when there was a lot going on around him, too. In the moment, he forgot himself, his surroundings, his body. It was especially prone to happening in the heat of battle. He’d be so focused on his target that everything else went dim. Distractions faded into the background. Which was a great trait for a sharpshooter, but not particularly helpful for a clumsy twenty-something. 

So, when he dove into the brush to take a pot-shot at the Sabertusk that had been flanking Ignis, he really didn’t expect the sharp drop hidden behind the copse, because he hadn’t turned to look for it. And he equally didn’t expect that he’d be doing a barrel roll down the embankment before he ever got a chance to squeeze the trigger. 

It was a long drop, and the undergrowth was thick. When he finally opened his eyes again, convinced that he had lost consciousness at some point, he found the sky a dim wash of watery grey between the dark, wiry trees silhouetted above him. The trees themselves didn’t give much cover, but the scrub was thick enough that he was sure no one could have seen him unless they were standing right on top of him.

Which explained why it was so late. Assuming the guys hadn’t been eaten by Sabertusks, they were probably looking for him, but—

Obviously, they hadn’t had any luck. He sat up, groaning, pinpricks of pain flaring up across his arms as he moved. There was a nasty scratch on his bicep, and other smaller signs of injury here and there elsewhere. He suppressed the urge to scratch them— they itched— and dug through his pockets for his phone.

And came up empty. He swore into the silence, wincing at the way the sound disrupted the quiet. Ignis would be pissed if he lost his phone. There wouldn’t be any getting another one. Those were Crownsguard issue, Insomnian made, one-of-a-kind pieces of technology. He’d have to find it before he went back. He didn’t have any other choice. 

Easier said than done. After reassuring himself that he didn’t have any serious injuries (thank the Astrals for the little things), he made a circular path through the underbrush, beginning from where he had fallen, in an attempt to scope out the area. But there was no sign of his phone, and it was beginning to get dark enough now that it was difficult to differentiate dead grass from leaves, dirt from moss-covered stone, shadows from branches. Momentarily, he stopped to clip his flashlight to the front of his jacket, and then he made the unhappy decision to give up the hunt and come back later. It wasn’t safe at night, and in his haste to find his phone, he had forgotten to look for his gun, which had slipped out of his hand when he fell. He could summon one of the guys’ weapons if he was in a pinch, but they’d just sold his old gun to pay for this one, so he was out of luck there.

It was when he stopped, in that moment, to get his bearings, that he realized the silence had never been replaced by all the usual sounds of a forest. Things moving in the underbrush, birds singing, animals making animal noises. There wasn’t even any breeze, just the stagnant, hot air of summer and the pungent scent of rotting plant-life. He didn’t know what it meant. At least, for a while.

Prompto chose to follow the wall of the ravine in hopes that it would lead to a way up, so that he could easily make his way back to where he knew the camp to be, but after thirty minutes of walking in the same direction, all he had to show for it was a dead-end. He eyed the incline, chewing on the inside of his lip, and wondered if he could climb it. The incline wasn’t so steep that it was immediately impossible, but he could tell just by looking at it that the earth was loose and probably wouldn’t hold his weight. He decided not to risk it and headed back the other way, crunching through dead, dried leaves and twiggy undergrowth. He was almost back to the copse he had fallen into when he stopped with the intention of resting for a few moments. The undergrowth continued to crunch underfoot even after he stopped. He frowned down at his boots, and then looked up, shining the flashlight all around him. 

There was nothing. He kept walking. 

The embankment became less sheer the further he went in this direction, and he could almost imagine by the feel of the air that it wasn’t as high, either. Even if there wasn’t a clear path up, he might be able to climb it if he kept going. He walked faster, breathing heavy now, sweat making the fine, thin hairs at the base of his skull stick to his skin. The embankment stopped suddenly and swerved around, creating a wall in front of him, but the corner was sloped at a shallower angle, and he began trying to climb it. 

He was halfway up when he struck his boot against a loose rock and lost his footing, sliding down about a meter to a chorus of bat-like cackling. Eyes gone wide, he froze in place, listening hard for the sound, hoping he had only imagined it. After the silence resumed, he began to climb again. This time, he nearly made it to the top of the embankment before the dirt beneath his feet gave way and he slid backward again, frantically grabbing at the scrub only to have it come away in his hands, leaves tearing and twigs snapping to the background noise of unkindly, cackling laughter. Muscles burning, teeth gritted, Prompto redoubled his efforts, climbing hand over foot until the grassy ledge just above him was in sight. He reached up and gripped it with his fingers, sighing as they dug into the soft, springy earth. It seemed the ground beneath his feet would hold him this time, at least for long enough for him to get back onto solid ground.

And then the world skewed sideways, and he began to fall. It took several seconds of scrabbling for him to realize that in fact, he wasn’t just falling, but being pulled— dragged backward down the incline. His flashlight swung wildly with every movement of his twisting body, so he couldn’t get a good look at his assailants, but he could make a guess. He knew what that laughter meant.

When he hit the ground, he hit the ground hard, but it wasn’t such a shock that he hesitated to materialize a weapon, choosing randomly from their backlog and pulling out a sword with a serrated edge. After guns, it was his preference, although that was mostly because it was what Noctis was most comfortable with, and they could easily spar together for fun. That should have helped him now, but even a sword wouldn’t be any good if he couldn’t swing it, and he needed to stand if he wanted his full range of movement. Which was difficult with a giggling Imp climbing onto his back and trying to wrestle him to the floor, while another two yanked on his calves. He swung wildly, panting, hoping to hit any stragglers, only to have his wrist wrenched painfully by a clammy little hand, and the sword fall harmlessly to the ground. He cursed again. He knew Noct wasn’t all that attached to that particular weapon, but he still used it on occasion, and now they would have to replace it. And then he found himself wondering if he would ever get the chance to apologize.

It was stupid. Imps were the weakest kind of daemon they dealt with. Even he could take out a pack on his own without any help. And here he was, helpless while the little creeps laughed in his face, obviously delighted by their handiwork. He continued to struggle, hoping to throw off the pair holding his legs, because at least if he could get standing he would have an advantage. Even a good kick could take care of these things. There was no way he was going to die like this. They weren’t even heavy enough to hold him down properly.

That was his silver lining. He managed to twist onto his stomach and smash both Imps who had been hanging onto his legs into the ground. Without hesitation, he brought his knee up and aimed a kick behind him. There was a crack when his foot connected, and a high-pitched squeal of pain. The other two creatures erupted into angry chattering, and something struck him hard in the back of his neck, in the shoulder, against his spine. It didn’t hurt all that much, but it was just disorienting enough that by the time he lifted himself up onto his hands and knees, there were already another two, three— four? Little daemons skittering out from the dark to grab his limbs and keep him from standing. He tried to get a good look at the two holding each of his arms, but they weren’t looking at him. They were looking away, back over his shoulder.

Then, he heard a different sound. A low, unfamiliar rumbling. His first instinct was to look up at the embankment. Had he knocked too much earth loose? Was there about to be a rock slide? But his flashlight was only lighting the ground immediately beneath him, and he couldn’t see anything in the dark in front of him. 

The Imps began to chatter again, giggling and excited. 

“What’s going on? Hey— Stop!”

They rolled him onto his back, and he suddenly understood what the sound was. There were two more Imps, each of them flanking a larger creature, with a warped, canine appearance. Bony protrusions growing up from its spine; large, hooked claws dragging shallow furrows through the earth; lank, pale hair hanging down to hide whatever grim face might hide beneath. It was a Havocfang. Sort of like a Sabertusk, but you only ever really saw them around Cleigne, and they were awful. Aggressively territorial, almost sadistic in nature, and a pain to have to take out. Ignis had explained, they exuded some kind of psychoactive pheromone when agitated that caused delirium in most mammals, which made them exceedingly dangerous to deal with, even for seasoned hunters. If you didn’t come prepared, you could easily be overwhelmed by only a few of the beasts.

But this particular creature didn’t seem intent on ending his life at the moment. It swayed when the Imps dragged it forward, and they tittered and jeered when it stumbled over its own claws. He might have felt bad for the thing if he hadn’t realized, in the same moment, that they were dragging it toward him. He began to struggle again, but he only got a smattering of laughter and a few needle-toothed grins for the effort. When it was close enough that its long, dragging tongue touched his leg, his heart leapt into his throat. It was like that first moment when he fell, before he understood what had happened. When the earth disappeared beneath him and time seemed to stop for just long enough for him to really appreciate how badly he had screwed up.

Boy, had he ever.

He didn’t understand just how badly until the Imps coming toward him stopped to chitter to their friends. The exchange went back and forth for a few moments, and then suddenly there was movement. The vice grip on his elbows, which kept his arms tucked behind his back, tightened until his shoulders ached, and the weight on his ankles increased. He couldn’t tell if there were more of them or if it was just his imagination, and then one of the little buggers sat on his chest and he could only tell what was happening by what he felt— long, clawed fingers tugging at his fly, grabbing the fabric and ripping it like it was only paper, yanking at his waistband and pulling it down past his hips. He began to shout, he didn’t know what, and then the daemon on his chest got up, snickering, and went around the other side of the Havocfang to push it forward.

Prompto’s body bucked with his efforts to be free, his muscles tensed, sweat gathering on the back of his neck again. His shirt stuck to his chest, and grass and dirt and little bits of dead leaves stuck to his arms and ass and the backs of his thighs. Its long, toothy snout pressed against his crotch, sniffing, its leathery skin rubbing against his cock, his balls, the cleft of his ass. His whole body tingled, and he jerked, trying to get away. The Imps laughed around him, and then he felt the Havocfang surge forward, pushed again by the Imp behind it.

It was on top of him, hot and crushingly heavy, and it stank of something rotten. It pressed its long snout against his cheek, snorting, breathing the scent of decaying flesh into his face. Prompto retched and turned his head, desperate to breathe fresh air almost as much as he was desperate to get this thing off of him. It pressed its nose against the line of his throat, and then it opened its jaws, and closed them around it.

His last thought, or what he thought would be his last thought, was: Well, at least it wasn’t the Imps. 

But instead of blacking out, he only felt his breath come slower, breaths longer and thicker than before. It hadn’t crushed his windpipe or broken his neck. It was pressing down just hard enough to hold on, but not so much that it would kill him. He felt an immediate swell of relief, delicious and giddy, followed hot on its heels by ice-cold realization.

Something— something hot and slick and fleshy was rubbing against his crotch. He couldn’t see down the length of his body because the creature’s ribcage was obscuring the light, and he couldn’t get a good glance past its jaws around his throat anyway. But he didn’t need to see to know. Not after it found what it was looking for. He tried, again, to wrench himself away, but the weight on top of him kept him from moving at all as the thing shifted its skinny, emaciated hips and nudged the slippery tip of his cock into the cleft of his ass. 

The moment the tapered tip snagged against his hole, it lurched forward with an animal sound and his world turned inside out. The white-hot sensation of his body being broken open overwhelmed every other stimulus, except for the pinprick of teeth either side of his windpipe. Body arching, desperate to be free, he struggled to breathe as it began to move. Slowly, almost as though it were hesitant, so he could feel every inch of it, and then fast and frantic. He was nearly sick in his own mouth, his belly clenched, his body burning as though he had a very bad fever. And then the strangest sensation of pleasure overcame him; there was a scent in the air, sickly sweet. It made his head swim. It made his cock twitch and, gradually, swell into hardness, red and dripping at the tip, where the foreskin pulled back over the head. He couldn’t think, and after a while couldn’t really remember why he was here, or what had happened to deliver him into this situation. The sounds that came from his body weren’t gasps of pain any longer; he was moaning faintly with what little air he could get, breathing hard. It was so big inside of him. He knew this shouldn’t be happening. But for a moment he had forgotten why, and it felt good enough that he couldn’t bring himself to care. A kind of explosive, overwhelming pleasure that couldn’t be described in words, a scalding all over his body, a light bursting behind his eyelids, ears muffled as though he’d stood too close to an explosion. 

His hips had at some point began to move on their own, and the Havocfang pressed into his body with increasing weight, its jaws tensing where they were held around his neck, tightening so that he eventually lost consciousness. The sudden limpness seemed to trigger something in the beast, and it pressed against the hole beneath, determined to be as deep as possible inside of it. Prompto came around to the sensation of something almost definitely too large being forced into his body, that felt like, once it was inside of him, a swell of flesh, as though to seal the place where their bodies joined. It was enough pain to tear through the veneer of pleasure, but it quickly subsided. He felt his balls rub against the creature’s hips, his entire body moving with each twitch— and then, almost as abruptly as it had begun, a wet heat was filling him. It pressed at him from the inside until he could hardly bear it, until he thought for sure his stomach must be so fat and swollen that it would burst. 

They lay like that for what felt like hours. His stomach was cramping. A sound he couldn’t identify, that didn’t seem congruous with the situation, began to fill his ears. An otherworldly cackling. The beast, its cock soft, pulled out. There was a wet squelch as cum overflowed from his hole, coating his ass and the backs of his thighs. 

It was hard to care. 

The Havocfang slunk away, and the Imps let it go.

And then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sky was beginning to go light. The sky was a flat, slate grey. What happened? He’d fallen, and lost his phone, and then…

What a strange dream, he thought. 

And then he tried to move, and he felt— Well. Not a dream, then. He struggled to sit up and looked down at himself to assess the damage. His clothes were ruined. His shirt was mostly fine, except that he had finished all over his stomach at some point, leaving a flaking, white stain behind. And the jacket was fine, but his pants were split clean in two down the middle, and the mess—

Not for the first time, he caught a sound on the air. Voices. Familiar voices.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

He scrambled to climb onto his feet, limbs working clumsily. His arms and legs felt stiff and heavy from the clammy morning chill. It was difficult for him to stay balanced and keep his pants from falling down at the same time, and even that much movement sent a gush of thick, viscous cum oozing down his thighs. Still, he made the best effort he could, pulling his pants up and pushing the frayed edges together, making to fasten his belt before realizing it was gone. 

It was when he twisted to glance around him, hoping to find the missing article, that his knees buckled and sent him careening back to the forest floor. And it was there, on hands and knees, that Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis found him. It was Gladio who spotted him first. He shouted to the others before closing the distance between them at a sprint. Even at a length, it must be obvious he was hurt. 

“Prompto! Hey, what the hell happened—!?”

Gladio stopped short, cutting himself off. Prompto stared at the ground, frozen in horror. Then, for lack of anything better, he forced a laugh through his throat. He found when he went to speak that his voice was hoarse. Had he been crying? Or screaming? He couldn’t remember. 

“I’m fine. Could I, uh, borrow your jacket? Please?”

“You’re not—”

Gladio cut himself off. He seemed to realize that Prompto was trying to spare himself being seen this way, and began shrugging off his jacket. At the same time, Noctis pushed through the copse of small trees, followed close behind by Ignis. His brows furrowed, and Ignis’s expression hardened. Busted. Gladio handed over his coat anyway. Prompto yanked it from his hands and pulled it on around his body, fingers digging into the supple leather as he held it around himself. It hung down far enough to hide his indignity, but Noctis was the only one who didn’t seem to understand what had happened. They may not have known why, or how, but they knew. And Noctis would too, sooner or later. He was the kind of person who only let you keep your secrets if he didn’t know about them. Otherwise…

He was a dog with a bone. 

They walked back to the camp in near silence. Ignis asked the occasional question, concerned, and Noctis kept shooting glances in his direction. Prompto’s stomach groaned, and not from hunger. Every step he took, the mess running down his legs grew, until he could feel it all the way down where his pant legs were tucked into his boots. 

By the time they returned, he was shivering so hard his teeth chattered. Noctis asked him more than once if he was all right, and he answered the same each time. I’m fine. And each time, Noctis looked more and more annoyed. But then the tent was in sight, and Ignis instructed both Noctis and Gladio to wait outside while Prompto went in to change. Prompto gave him a look that could have been apologetic or could have been thankful, and hurried inside.

He tore open his pack and dug through his things until he found one of the old towels that Ignis had made sure they took with them, and then he lifted it out, unfolded it, and sat on it. When he was sure he wouldn’t make a mess of the tent, he undressed himself, ginger in his movements. His ruined clothes were set to one side, and Gladio’s jacket he tossed across the tent so it would be as far as possible from him. Then he hugged his arms around his middle and brought his knees to his chest. He did it out of instinct, out of a desire for comfort, but the pressure on his lower half caused him to empty another gush of sticky fluid onto the towel. His nose wrinkled with a grimace, eyes hot and prickling. What was he supposed to do now? Wait it out? How long would it take? He needed a bath, or at least a shower, but how was he supposed to avoid ruining another pair of pants on the way to one? His fingers dug into his arms, and he pressed his forehead hard against a kneecap. He wondered how long the guys would let him hog the tent. 

When his arms and legs began to cramp, he unfolded them and looked down at himself. He had been avoiding it, and with good reason. His body was a mess. Now that the bruises had had time to settle in, they were absolutely everywhere, some the yellow of a bruised pear, others dark and purpling. The results of his fall were obvious, the scrapes and knocks he got toppling down the embankment. But then there were the bands around his wrists or at his elbows where he’d been held, or between his thighs where he’d been—

And he stank. He smelled sour, like sweat and sex, like the breath of that creature. It was easy to imagine its jaws still around his throat, and he reached up and touched where he could still feel the indentations of its teeth. His cock stirred, and he quickly took his hand away, an uncomfortable heat rising to his cheeks.

With a frown lining his face, he stared down at himself. There was still dried jizz on his stomach. And was it just his imagination, or was his stomach… bigger? His hand lifted and then hesitantly laid over his navel. He pressed down, watching the soft flesh distend between his fingers. His cock stirred again, and he gasped, jerking his hand away. He could still feel himself leaking, the towel beneath him growing wet. Maybe… that was the best thing he could do. Get it all out now, and then have a real wash later. 

His chest rose and fell. When he took a particularly deep breath, he could feel it down in his stomach, and the towel got a little wetter. It was obvious there were ways to expedite the process. And even if he didn’t really want to do it, he couldn’t leave the guys waiting forever. So he placed his hand back over his belly, and pressed. His inner muscles tensed, and his body trembled. He angled his ankles outward to avoid sitting in the spreading stain, and ignored his twitching cock. 

But it was taking notice despite his best efforts. Prompto squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his fingers in a circular pattern, thighs trembling, and then pressed in with the heel of his palm. His hips angled up involuntarily to meet it, cock flushing with color as it lengthened. By the time he was brave enough to chance opening his eyes again, the foreskin had peeled back to reveal the head. The hand on his stomach pressed harder, dragging down the length of his navel, trapping his cock with his palm against his shut thighs and squishing his balls between them. If he arched his back, he could rub his bloated stomach against his arm while he touched himself, and that’s what he did, mind an untidy mess of racing thoughts as he rutted like an animal in heat.

It wasn’t enough. He couldn’t help it. He turned his hand and roughly grabbed his cock, squeezing his fingers as he yanked on it. But the lessened pressure on his stomach meant that he wasn’t leaking as much of that sticky fluid, which meant it would take longer. It was how he rationalized opening his thighs, angling his body back, and pressing a finger inside his leaking asshole. His hips bucked. God, it hurt. It hurt so much. But it felt so impossibly good, he couldn’t stop. He hooked his finger and dragged the stuff out of his body, pumping his cock at the same time. His finger made a squelching sound each time it pushed inside, rubbing against his inner walls and emptying out more semen onto the towel. It felt like it was going to take forever, so he added another finger, and by then it felt so good he simply couldn’t do it anymore. His fingers squeezed tight around the shaft of his cock, and his body squeezed tight around the fingers inside it, and his head thrown back, he came, his own cum oozing down over his knuckles, his wrist. It felt like he might black out again, but he fought it. If the guys thought anything was really, seriously wrong, they’d come in to make sure he was okay, and then they’d see, and they’d know what kind of a person he really was. 

He already had a terrible secret, what was one more?

His fingers came free from his body reluctantly, and he lifted them to his face, studying them with detached curiosity. The fluid was thick and yellowish, and it glistened. He rubbed his fingers together. Then he wiped them off on the towel and tried to arrange himself the way he had been sitting before. His hand came back to his stomach hesitantly, and when he touched it, he could feel himself still leaking. His cock stayed out of it this time. In fact, everything below his belly button felt sort of numb, like the nerves had short circuited with that last bout of temporary insanity. 

He was tired. He hurt. He wanted to curl up and go to sleep in his sleeping bag. He wanted a shower almost as badly. But he had to wait. He could only ruin so many pairs of pants before they would have to buy more, and that was money meant for the trip. 

After some time had passed, he saw the silhouette of someone come to crouch down in front of the tent. He realized immediately that it was Noctis.

“Hey, um… Prompto, Ignis said to tell you we’re going to go to a hotel tonight. And that we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” He paused, and took a breath. “But, um, we don’t have to go to a hotel. I’ll be alright, it’s not a big deal.”

“Prompto…”

“Seriously. I’m okay.”

There was silence from outside the tent. But he could tell Noctis hadn’t left. He wished he could see his face, but was also glad he couldn’t.

“Look, I’m pretty sure Ignis made up his mind already. You can argue with him if you want, but…” 

Prompto didn’t have an answer for that.

He stared down at his stomach. 

“Should I leave?”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry. I’ll be ready soon.”

“Okay.”

Noctis paused like he meant to say something, and then he stood up and left. Prompto’s heart sank, and he redoubled his effort to clean himself up. He was still leaking, but not as badly. He’d probably be okay for a while if he had something to… soak up the mess. So he sat up on his legs and picked out clean clothes for himself. He also set aside a clean washcloth. After using the last unsoaked corner of his towel to rub his belly clean, he dressed; the washcloth, he stuffed in his briefs. It wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t move around too much, which meant he could hold out until he had access to a bathroom. When he was finished, he bundled up the towel as best he could and stuffed it in the furthest reaches of his duffel. 

And then he sat down on the floor of the tent a while longer. 

Noctis came back for him eventually. How long had he been staring at the tent flap? This time, he came out immediately. And immediately, he regretted it. Something about the remorse and confusion knitting Noct’s brows together made him feel like a worm crawling around in the dirt. He avoided his eyes and rushed past him to let Ignis and Gladio pack up the tent. Then the four of them piled into the car and drove to the nearest rest stop. Noctis watching him all the while.

Old Lestallum was where the retinue ended up. Prompto had forgotten to tell Ignis he didn’t need to stay at the motel, and by the time they had gotten there, it seemed like it would be ungrateful to refuse the offer. Secretly, he was glad, but at the same time his stomach churned with guilt. He had the distant feeling that he was being unreasonable with himself. They stayed at hotels all the time, even when Ignis complained about the cost and Gladio insisted he preferred camping out under the stars. More than once, Prompto had been the one to suggest it. But his common sense couldn’t override how he felt. He had held them up for more than a day, lost his phone, lost his gun, ruined his clothes, and now they were spending even more money for his sake.

Thinking about in that light, he felt horrible. He really should have told Ignis not to bother. But he said nothing, let Noctis book the room, and carried his pack in with the rest of them. (Noctis offered to carry it for him, but he told him it was alright, he could handle it.)

Prompto let the others use the bathroom first before he disappeared inside. It wasn’t that late in the day, and the guys would all want to use it again before they settled in for the evening, but he couldn’t bring himself to immediately peel out of his clothes and get into the shower. He sat on the closed toilet lid and stared down at himself, picturing against his will what he looked like beneath his clothes. He had never particularly liked his body, and these days he only liked certain, specific parts. But in this moment, he hated it with a new wave of passion. It wasn’t the same hatred he felt for himself when he had been fat. Or even the hatred he felt for himself now that he was never as good as he wanted to be. But it was hatred. Maybe he only felt it because it was easy for him to feel, but it didn’t really matter why. He didn’t know how to stop it. 

But his pity party couldn’t last forever, and eventually he forced himself up onto his feet and out of his clothes. The washcloth he had stuffed in his underwear was damp, but his underwear was unstained, so at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He turned on the shower and stood under the spray until the heat made his legs weaken. Then he sat down in the tub while steam filled the room and made the air thick and difficult to breathe. Or maybe it was just him. His vision blurred, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He struggled to wet a washcloth and drag it over his body, but he did it. And then for a while, once he was done, he laid in the bottom of the tub and let himself rest. 

He woke to someone rattling the door. 

“Prompto…? Uh, you okay? You’re still in there, right?”

Noct. The water had gotten cold at some point, and he was shivering. He struggled upright and reached to turn it off before answering.

“Y-yeah, be out in a minute!”

It took him more than a minute, but Noctis didn’t come to the door again. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Noctis was the only one there. He turned from where he was sitting on the bed, saw the look on his face, and answered the question he hadn’t asked.

“Ignis went shopping, and Gladio’s out catching up with Dave. They probably won’t be back for a while.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

Judging by the look on his face, Noct didn’t seem to know why he was apologizing, but he didn’t take it back.

“It’s okay.”

Prompto walked over and sat down on the other bed. It was quiet for a while, except for the occasional soft click from Noct’s phone as he typed. Prompto didn’t notice the glances he was sending in his direction, maybe because he was so tired. And then he spoke again.

“Ignis said you should try to rest…”

“Right.”

The silence returned. But the next time Noctis opened his mouth, he had put his phone away. He wasn’t turned toward him, but he was sitting straighter, with his arms crossed across his chest.

“He’s right. You should be resting. They won’t tell me what happened, and I figured it can’t be that serious if Ignis isn’t insisting you get medical attention, but…”

“See? That’s what I mean, I’m fine.”

“But you’re not.”

Prompto stifled the urge to insist, knowing it would only make Noct upset; and he stifled the urge to excuse himself to the bathroom when Noct stood up and came over to stand in front of him, arms crossed. He had to lean back to look up at him, he was standing so close. Noctis wasn’t often intimidating, but right now, while he stared down his nose at him, Prompto’s every urge told him to shrink away. Maybe it was the guilt. He averted his eyes, his pale hair, darkened with moisture, falling into his face. His voice was weak.

“Sorry.” 

Noct’s face fell.

“Look, no, it’s okay. I just don’t understand.”

Maybe if Ignis or Gladio had been there, they would have told him that he didn’t need to understand. But it was just the two of them, and he felt he owed it to Noctis, and Noctis felt he owed it to him too. And maybe, just maybe, a little part of him wanted to. Although it was anyone’s guess whether that drive came from a desire for honesty, or a desire to be punished. 

“I got attacked by some daemons.”

“But you don’t look that hurt—” he winced. “I don’t mean it like that. But I’ve seen you in way worse shape than this. Remember that time you broke your arm? You acted like it was hilarious. I thought Ignis was gonna faint.”

“I know. It’s just… embarrassing. That’s all.”

“Why, because they ruined your clothes? We’ll get you new clothes, Prompto. Don’t even worry about it. We’ll get you a new phone, too. It probably won’t be as good as the old one, but...”

Prompto’s lips parted. He really didn’t know, did he? Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look. If Noctis wasn’t being purposefully obtuse, he could hide it forever, as long as Ignis and Gladio never gave him away. He imagined pretending he hadn’t fallen down into the ravine. He imagined Ignis and Gladio’s knowing looks caught out of the corner of his eye for the rest of his life. He furrowed his brows and pressed his lips together, staring down at where one hand rested against the comforter. He picked at the fabric, loosening a string of thread.

“It’s not just that…”

But Noctis didn’t answer. He waited. And then glanced up when Noctis uncrossed his arms. His head was quirked slightly, and his eyes were focused on something in the middle distance, like he was trying very hard to remember something he had forgotten. 

“Noct?”

He blinked several times and glanced toward him again.

“What is that? You… smell like…”

“I still smell?” Ugh. 

Prompto’s nose wrinkled, and he bent his neck down, pulling his shirt up to his face to take a whiff of it himself. He couldn’t smell anything, but maybe he had just gotten used to it. He let go of his shirt and lifted his head with the intention of putting this conversation on hold for a second trip to the bathroom, but he didn’t get the chance. He found himself eye to eye with Noctis when he straightened up, but he wasn’t looking at his face. He was staring at his throat. He lifted his hand as though he was going to touch him there, but then he did something completely different. He laid his hand over his mouth and pushed him down onto the bed. 

Prompto fell back without resistance. He didn’t understand. And even when he did begin to understand, he didn’t do anything. Through wide eyes, he watched Noctis touch his aching body, lips slightly parted, panting like he couldn’t breathe deeply enough; and he watched him pull down his pants and stare, crease between his brows, like he didn’t even understand what it was that he was doing. It was only then that panic reared its head, but it wasn’t that he was afraid for himself. He was afraid for Noctis. If he was— contagious, then Noct didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t imagine why he would.

“Stop it! Noct! Come on, cut it out!” 

He shook his head like a cat with an itch in its ear, and then he reached down and put his fingers between his legs. They slid into his body without any resistance, and came away slick. The scent in the air thickened. Mouth hanging open, Noctis wiped his fingers on Prompto’s stomach, and then suddenly seemed to notice him again, eyes focusing and unfocusing. He thumbed along his belly. Prompto still felt bloated, although he couldn’t tell if it was visible. He wondered if Noct was noticing. Noct’s mouth worked like he wanted to speak, but the words went nowhere. Instead, he leaned forward, hovering over him

It didn’t take him long to realize what he was doing; their hips met and Noctis humped against him, staring down at where their bodies met like he just couldn’t fathom what wasn’t working. Prompto pushed at him weakly, protesting, and Noctis grabbed his wrists to stop him. 

“C’mon, Noct, don’t…”

But he figured it out eventually. He pulled his pants down his hips without ever touching his fly, his hard cock springing free. Prompto forgot to protest for a moment, staring at it. And then Noctis was on top of him again, and it only took a few tries for him to line up and push inside. His head fell back. It burned. And it felt so, so good. Just like the last time, what should have had him in agony was pure, unfiltered pleasure. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The sounds that escaped from his throat was as animal as the thing that had been on top of him, guttural and shameless. 

Noctis held onto both wrists as he moved inside him, arms pulled taut like a lead, using his own body to counterbalance each thrust. The friction burnt, warmth spreading outward to engulf him, and suddenly no sound he could make was loud enough. 

Sweating, clothes sticking to his skin, he thrashed, and Noct drove into him harder. Then his whole body seemed to constrict, and he heard Noctis make a sound he had never heard him make before, and then a wet warmth spread inside him. 

Noctis slumped on top of him, dead weight. 

It was a few minutes before he stirred again, but when he pulled back to look at Prompto his eyes were wide and wet, and it took several attempts before he could get the broken sounds coming out of his mouth to form into words.

“Prompto, what did I just do to you? A-are you okay? Hey…”

“It’s okay, Noct. It’s not your fault.” Or, that was what he meant to say, but it came out so badly slurred he wondered if Noctis could make out any of the words. Whether he could or not, he shook his head mutely in response. His fingers were still tightened around his wrists, and he let go abruptly and scrambled to pull up his pants. He made to do the same for Prompto, and then stopped. He sounded urgent.

“I can still smell that… whatever it is. You need to wash up again.”

Prompto knew that he was right, but he couldn’t move. His whole body had gone numb, and his hands shook so badly he had trouble even pulling his shirt down when he made the attempt. He wondered if he could stand. Noctis quickly picked up on what the problem was without him having to say anything, which he was thankful for, but it presented other issues. He didn’t really want to think about what was going on here, but it was obviously caused by proximity. 

But if he didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t have to. He could make whatever stupid mistakes he liked. It was an effort to speak, but by enunciating carefully, he was at least comprehensible.

“Can you help me to the bathroom?”

“Y-yeah. Sure. C’mon.”

Noctis helped him up, and he could feel that he was still sweating. When they got to the bathroom, he left him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat. Prompto started undressing, hunched forward like he was trying to shield his body and simultaneously ask for Noct’s help at the same time. Noct stood awkwardly, waiting to be dismissed. When Prompto finally thought he might leave without being asked to, he spoke up.

“You’re gonna have to help me into the shower, I don’t think I can stand yet.”

Noctis grimaced, but nodded. Once all Prompto’s clothes were on the floor, he helped him sit in the bottom of the tub, his hand tight on his arm. Despite his shuffling, stumbling movements, it all felt very still until he heard the sound of Noctis inhaling deeply. Had he been holding his breath? Prompto sunk his teeth into his lip, listening now to Noct’s breathing, which seemed to be the only sound in the room now that he had noticed it. Noctis slipped helping him sit, and caught himself with his hand on the other side of the tub. His body was covering Prompto’s entirely, eclipsing the overhead light. Prompto watched him, throat closed up, tongue numb. 

His leg bent, and he shifted sideways so that he was kneeling halfway in the tub, and then he laid his body on top of Prompto’s. His left arm caught around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Prompto’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. He felt Noctis reach back to push his own pants down, and this time it only took him two tries to push inside. The sounds he was making on top of him felt pained, and he wondered if he knew what he was doing even though he clearly couldn’t stop. It didn’t really matter to him. It felt just as good as it had the first time. Maybe better. His muscles drew up so tightly, he was almost sure that he was going to break something. The human body wasn’t meant to bear this kind of strain. But then he went limp and shivering. He was pretty sure he had finished again, but couldn’t tell when it had started or ended. He only knew it was over when Noct started scrambling off of him. 

Noctis pulled himself upright and took a stumbling step back, staring at the shape of Prompto in the tub, and then averted his eyes, his adam’s apple working in his throat as he swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused to cock his head. It took a moment for Prompto to understand. The general murmur of voices from outside had coalesced into the voices of their friends. Ignis and Gladio weren’t standing close enough to the room that they could make out what they were saying, but it was clear they were talking to the proprietor, which probably meant they were coming back inside. Noctis pulled his eyes back to Prompto, lips still parted. His voice came out hoarse.

“Call me if you need me.”

He fled from the room.

Once he could move again, Prompto spent as long as he felt he realistically could washing himself, skin chafed where he almost ended up rubbing it raw in places. Then he struggled to get out of the shower and get up on his own. Climbing upright was difficult, but not impossible. Staying standing was a different matter. He could probably walk with help, but his stamina was nonexistent. His muscles felt as if they’d been stretched out like loose rubber bands. He made it as far as dressing himself, and then he sat and listened to Noct talking to Gladio and Ignis through the door. 

Ignis was concerned. Gladio was too, in his gruff way. They both thought he should have been in bed by now. Noctis stumbled over his words, struggling to find some excuse, and came up empty handed. Prompto wished he could tell him he didn’t need to worry about the guys figuring out what he had done. It was obvious to him that they thought Noctis had figured out what had happened to him to begin with, and that he was taking it badly. He probably would be if he had. 

They left him alone for a while longer, but eventually someone came to knock on the bathroom door. Somehow, he could tell just by the firm _tap-tap-tap_ that it was Gladio.

“Hey, you alright in there? Need help with anything?”

Prompto hesitated to answer, but forced himself to speak.

“Yeah. Sorry. You can come in.”

Gladio didn’t make any comments, even to joke about it. Just helped him up onto his feet and out of the bathroom, into the nearest bed. He gave him a pat on the shoulder, and a smile.

“There you go.”

He heard Ignis sigh. Gladio stepped away as he stepped over. Noctis was sitting at the table, in the chair farthest from him, looking down at his phone, fingers still.

“Prompto, would you like to eat before you lay down? Or would you rather wait?”

Had they brought food? No. He didn’t see any containers. They must have been planning to go back out. Prompto shook his head and looked down at his knees.

“I’ll wait. I’m not hungry.”

Ignis paused, but eventually nodded.

“I’ll be back soon.”

He left, and Gladio sat down across from Noctis. Prompto watched them from his peripheral vision for a short time, and then he pulled back the covers and crawled beneath them, his back turned away from the door. When he woke up later, it was dark, and the lights were out in the room. He could feel a dip in the bed next to him, but he couldn’t tell who it was, and he didn’t want to twist his neck around to see. More urgently, he had to pee. 

His body was stiff when he sat up, muscles protesting. He had to move gingerly to move at all, but he could stand, at least, and make it to the bathroom and back without help. When he sat down on the bed, he saw it was Noctis next to him, laying on his side, legs pulled up to his chest. He was sleeping on top of the comforter, but someone had tossed a throw over him. Probably Ignis. He wondered if the guys had decided Noctis should sleep here to give him more space. 

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, staring at the curve of Noct’s shoulder, before he spoke. His voice was soft in the dark.

“Prompto?”

At first, he didn’t answer. But he knew that Noctis knew he was awake, and he couldn’t bring himself to give him the silent treatment.

“Yeah.”

“I’m… really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The words came easily. He said them a lot, after all. He could see Noct’s shoulder tense.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You believe me?”

He stopped to consider it. But even if he thought differently, he’s not sure he would admit it to himself. 

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“All right…”

After a minute, Prompto laid down again. Noctis had gone quiet. He wondered if he had fallen back asleep, and something spurred him into action. Maybe it was the possibility that he was, and that he wouldn’t hear him. But it didn’t really matter, because he was still awake, so he did.

“Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what happened either.” 

“Yeah… Figured.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you… Do you think it’s wrong to like something that hurts you?”

He could almost feel Noctis stop short. He did feel him turn to face him, the springs groaning beneath them. It was easy to picture the furrow between his brows, even though he couldn’t see it. He braced for his reaction.

“Uh, what?”

“Never mind. I know it’s stupid.”

“Hold on, what do you mean?”

It took another few moments for him to gather himself up again. He could hear Gladio and Ignis breathing in the next bed over, and hoped that neither of them were secretly listening in. It seemed like the kind of thing Ignis might do, anyway.

“I just think that there might be something wrong with me.” Noctis didn’t say anything, so he hastened to add. “Like, I got hurt, but when I think about it, I feel. Good. Sort of.”

“Prompto…”

It was easy to tell he didn’t understand what he was trying to say. His heart sank, and he began to feel cold all over, or maybe he had just realized that he was freezing. He shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. Noctis kept speaking.

“I... don’t know if it’s wrong, but I don’t think it’s that weird. I mean, it is weird, but not bad weird. People like things that hurt them all the time.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Noctis was thinking about when he said that. Was it a general observation, or was he pulling from experience? He sort of wanted to ask, but when he thought about it, he decided he’d rather not risk making Noct get all defensive. He’d stop saying nice things if he did that.

Instead, he tried to laugh.

“‘Weird, but not bad weird’?”

“Yeah.”

It was earnest. It sort of made his heart feel like it was being squeezed very tightly. Like Noct’s hands around his wrists felt.

“Okay.” 

“So don’t worry about it.”

“Noct… What happened…”

He felt him tense beside him. He must have thought he was about to confront him for earlier, but that wasn’t his intention. Maybe he would’ve chickened out if not for that, but he couldn’t allow Noctis to think he was going to let what he did hang over his head.

“When I fell. I tried to get back, but I couldn’t figure out how to get up out of the ravine, and then it got dark, and— and I think… I think it thought I was a girl. It must have been sick or something. The daemons brought it from somewhere.” 

“What do you mean? Who thought that? Brought what?”

“One of those dog things. With the long hair.”

“And it didn’t hurt you?”

Noctis sounded incredulous. He knew how violent those creatures could be, how bloodthirsty. Injured, they were even worse. The kind of animal that reminded you just how dangerous an animal could be.

The next thing he said was only, “Oh.”

Prompto didn’t ask if he’d figured it out. He sort of didn’t want to know. 

Before either of them tried to speak again, he had fallen asleep. 

\---

It was several days before Prompto was well enough to travel, and the guilt ate at him like a disease, but otherwise everything was fine. The atmosphere had lightened considerably now that Noctis was no longer mulling over being excluded, and Prompto was well enough to pretend he wasn’t hurting any longer. 

Even after he recovered, they went out of their way to find lighter work, perhaps because they felt guilty. He’d learned from Noctis while he was still bedridden that, both due to the threat of daemons, and because of the treacherous terrain, Ignis and Gladio hadn’t allowed him to keep searching once it’d gotten dark. They couldn’t risk their prince breaking his neck for the least essential member of his retinue, and silently, he agreed. 

Ignis bought him a new phone, too. It was a flip phone, kind of cheap, not packed with features like his Crownsguard issue smartphone, or even the phone he had before that. It was shiny red, like the chassis on one of those expensive convertibles, and he burst into tears when Ignis handed it to him.

He did his best to play it off by saying he was only grateful to have such good friends, but that wasn’t the reason. Well, he was grateful. But he also sort of wished he had been eaten, instead of what actually happened.

Noctis watched him like he was waiting for him to do something, and looked away when Prompto noticed.

Ignis and Gladio kept an eye on him in surreptitious glances, but he figured they were just worried he was going to do something stupid and hurt himself again. After all, he had only been trying to help. 

But they never talked to him about it. They weren’t those kinds of people. Instead, they sat around the campfire and laughed and pretended not to notice when Prompto’s eyes wandered out toward the dark, staring like he had heard some sound beyond their range of hearing. Camp would grow silent, because it wasn’t all that out of the ordinary for Prompto to be the one to carry a conversation. And then somebody would say something — Ignis would make a snide quip about how much of his coffee Gladio was drinking now that he had finally given it a shot, or Gladio would egg Noctis on over a bet they’d made about who could kill the most daemons in one night — and everything would be the same as it’d always been.

\---

Once or twice while they were still traveling in Cleigne, when they were talking over which hunts they should take, Noctis vetoed Ignis and Gladio’s choices to make sure they never took on any hunts where they might encounter Havocfangs. Gladio ribbed him for it a bit. _They’re not that creepy, Noct. And they’re a nuisance. We should take care of them for the people around here_. But he didn’t push when Noctis insisted. Prompto knew he was supposed to be relieved, and he was, but there was an anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. Like, now that the idea had been spoken, he was only waiting for it to happen. 

He was. And he wanted to get it over with. So he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

But it wasn’t his call to make, and he was even more afraid of trying to explain his rationale to Noctis. Maybe they wouldn’t agree, and they would fight about it. Or they would agree, and he’d have to do this knowing Noctis knew, with Noctis watching him. And if it didn’t work, if he still felt the same, there would be yet another reason for Noct to be disappointed in him.

So, instead of doing the sensible thing and telling him he wanted to take one of those hunts, he loaded his gun (they’d bought that at Old Lestallum too), and left camp late at night, in secret. They were close enough to Ravatogh that he could see the rest stop from the outcrop, and there were no dangerous pitfalls anywhere nearby. If he got into trouble, he’d know exactly where to go. 

Havocfangs were common in this area, and he remembered they had encountered them here on more than one occasion. In theory, he wouldn’t have to go far.

And, in practice, he was right. He found the pack halfway between camp and the outpost, asleep on the far side of a different outcrop, where they’d be shaded from the sun in the evenings. There were several of them, six that he could count, and they were surprisingly heavy sleepers, their big, shaggy manes fluttering softly with each breath they took. Maybe because there were no predators in this area any higher on the food chain, they didn’t have to worry about ambushes in the middle of the night. As far as he knew, even daemons generally gave them a wide berth. 

Which led to the question: What was _he_ doing here? Maybe that thing had done worse to him than he thought. There had to be something wrong with him. Like brain damage. He crept closer, adrenaline singing in his veins. His limbs were cold with fear, and he wondered if he’d even be able to run away if they woke up. He could summon his gun in an instant, but it wouldn’t make any difference. He couldn’t take a group like this by himself. Not at this distance. They’d be on him before he could fire the first shot. 

It was at the same time as Prompto was coming to this conclusion that he realized he had an erection. His cock strained against the inside of his pants, the seam digging uncomfortably into the shaft, and for several long moments he struggled to pull his breath in and out of his body. 

It was making him dizzy. He wanted to itch, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He imagined them waking up, lifting their big, shaggy heads full of mean, curved teeth, and setting eyes on him. They would tear him apart. But it wasn’t what he was picturing inside his head. 

He stumbled backward, and his heel caught against the craggy ground. It made a sound, and without thinking at all, he turned and broke into a full sprint. Air burning in his lungs, he ran flat out in the direction of the rest stop, toward the warm, yellow lights, so impossibly bright in the distance. And then, abruptly, he was there, his eyes squinting as his pupils adjusted. A couple people milling around outside the shop gave him odd looks, but he burst past them and ducked behind the brick building. 

He pictured himself being flattened beneath several crushingly heavy bodies, hot stinking breath in his face, tongues trailing and wet. He pictured several long, pointed cocks, ridged and stiff, pulling in and out of his hole, and he tried to imagine the sensation, tried to recreate it by pushing his hand down the front of his pants and pressing his fingers inside. It wasn’t anything like what he was imagining, but it didn’t take him long to make a mess in his underwear, doubled over and choking on his own breath.

It would be impossible for him to make it back to camp tonight, so he waited until morning, and called Ignis.

When Ignis asked him what had happened, his lie came easy. He went out for a pee and stumbled on a pack of “those dog things”. Maybe it was his use of that particular animal in his excuse, but Noctis never stopped watching him.

But it wasn’t until they were next alone together that Prompto called him out on it. 

“What’s wrong? Do I smell weird?”

“What? No. You smell fine.”

Noctis seemed unbalanced by the question; Prompto felt disappointed. 

“Why did you leave last night?”

And then it was Prompto’s turn to be unbalanced. He looked at Noctis, and then quickly looked away.

“I had to pee, I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What, you don’t believe me? Why would I lie about something like that?” 

“Because you did something stupid, and you don’t want anyone to know about it.”

“I—”

“I know you went out on purpose. You took ammo out of the Armiger to load your gun.”

“Of course I did, I thought they were gonna kill me!”

“Then why didn’t you try to defend yourself?”

Prompto opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Noctis had materialized his gun from thin air. He held it up, extending his hand as though he was offering it out to him. 

“You didn’t fire a single shot.”

He didn’t have an excuse for that. He hadn’t even taken his gun out of the Armiger last night. He considered trying to argue, but how could he have had the time to reload without doing anything else? All he had to do was pull the trigger.

His head hung, and he looked away. The gun disappeared. 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed. What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?” 

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I just don’t, okay! I can’t stop thinking about what happened, so I thought, I have to do something about it, and that’s all I could come up with.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know!”

He did know. Noctis seemed to realize that too, or at least that it was stupid to shout about it. Or maybe he just didn’t want Gladio and Ignis to overhear and come running. 

“Look, I’m really sorry. I know it was stupid.”

“I need you to promise me it won’t happen again.” 

He hesitated just long enough that anything he could have said lost its sincerity. Noctis grabbed him by the wrist.

“Prompto!” 

“I don’t know what to say! I don’t know why I feel this way, how am I supposed to know how to fix it?”

His throat was closing up, and Noct’s fingers around his wrist made his stomach writhe. He wanted to do something terrible. 

“Is this about what you said before? About wanting things that hurt you?”

Noct’s voice had softened. Prompto shook his head, but Noct knew better.

“It is, isn’t it.”

Prompto tried to pull his arm away, but Noctis only held on more tightly. His bottom lip trembled, and he tugged harder. But before Noctis could decide to let go, he was already crying. Face crumpled, shoulders shaking, but silent. After all, he didn’t want the guys to overhear him. He had practice with this sort of thing. 

Noctis watched him with his hand still around his wrist, although his fingers had loosened. He didn’t make a move to offer any other comfort, but maybe it was because he was uncomfortable himself. Prompto knew he didn’t like outward displays of emotion, and he scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, fighting to get himself under control. How could he do this to Noctis? After how much he had inconvenienced everyone already, now he was making things worse. It was fine if he was killed, but if he was hurt, they would have to take care of him. They would be paying out of pocket for his medical expenses and lodging, and they’d be set back however long it took him to recover. And if he didn’t recover, they’d have to leave him behind. He thought maybe that would be all right too, but he couldn’t really stomach the thought. His voice came out in a croak.

“It’s okay. I promise I won’t do it again.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t have anything to do with it when they finally took that Havocfang hunt Gladio had been bothering Noctis about all this time; they’d split up in Lestallum, and apparently enough time had passed that Gladio had forgotten they were avoiding them, and he and Ignis had already agreed to do it. After all, they didn’t know where Noct’s aversion was coming from. And Noctis, with events no longer fresh in his mind, only briefly argued before letting Gladio get his way. 

Prompto felt he took the whole thing surprisingly well; even the hunt itself went smoothly right up until the end. There had been a group of nine, and now there were seven dead bodies and a mild amount of gore smeared across the craggy ground. The beasts left standing were in poor shape, one limping on a lame paw, the other bleeding from a wound gouged into its ribcage by a sword strike that had meant to kill. It wasn’t even Prompto’s fault when the whole thing went pear-shaped. Ignis was tossing Noctis a potion right as one of the animals crept into Gladio’s blind spot, and as he took a swipe at the other, the scent in the air turned sickly sweet. Gladio got it a whiff and his swing turned clumsy, the weight of the broadsword pulling him off balance. Ignis was quick to his side, but when he reached into his pocket for the smelling salts, he came up empty.

There was a choice you had to make in a situation like this. A person under the effect of an agent like that was dangerous, and you either gave them a wide berth and potentially increased their hazard to themselves, or you dealt with them directly, and potentially increased the hazard to yourself. Ignis, in that moment, decided to engage Gladio with the intention of disarming him. Which left Noctis and Prompto to finish up the hunt.

The creatures had used the confusion to their advantage, slinking around the side of a massive formation of volcanic rock. He and Noctis agreed to split up and go around either side in a pincer formation, but when Prompto came around, neither creature was present. He chanced wandering a little further, searching through the scrub, wondering if they had hidden or fled. There were more rock formations that might have made good hiding places, and he started off in the direction of the nearest one, which was only some meters away. 

When the thing hit him from behind, it felt for a moment like his back had been broken. It was crushing his body under its massive weight, and he could hardly take a breath. He didn’t have the wherewithal to struggle. It closed its stinking jaws around his throat, and he thought, well, at least it’ll be a quick death.

And then his nose was filled with a sweeter scent. His breathing came more easily, and without really giving it any thought, he rutted his hips against the ground. It was uncomfortable, but with the fear of death fresh in his mind, there was no room for him to be self-conscious. He pressed his cheek to warm stone and tried to find completion with the thing still on top of him, its dry nose pressed against the base of his skull, sniffing. It was going to kill him. He knew that. And knowing that sort of made it all better. 

It angled its long snout down and nosed at his ass, then his crotch. He made a noise in the back of his throat that turned into a gurgle. He thought he might puke, not because he was afraid, or because he was disgusted, but because it felt so deliriously good. 

The thing tried pushing its snout down his pants, but couldn’t fit itself into the tight space between the fabric and his skin. So instead, it aligned its body with his and began to rut as though it was determined to get something out of this despite the less than ideal configuration, its cock sliding free to drag against the clothed cleft of his ass. It was just enough for him to remember that he had free use of his hands. So he grabbed his own waistband, and with one last farewell to dignity, pushed them down as far as they could go.

This time didn’t last as long as the first had. Maybe because that animal had been sick, or because this one was hurt. But when it found home and thrust inside him, the base of its dick swelled almost right away. He could still feel the ache from before as his hole was spread wide and his and the creature’s bodies joined together. It moved without any coordination, tearing at his insides, and emptied inside him for a time that felt much longer than a few minutes, during which he heard a squeal echo somewhere off in the distance. The death cry of the other Havocfang. Noctis was okay, then, and he didn’t have to feel guilty about what he had done. 

He came awake violently when the thing on top of him was wrenched away by force, knot popping free. It took him several moments to realize the sound he heard after that was Noctis screaming bloody murder. His ears were ringing loudly. They felt like they had been packed with cotton. Likewise, he felt like he’d been stuffed, but he sort of had. The thought made him laugh, and then he blacked out.

When he came to the second time, he was propped up in the shade of a rocky outcropping with something soft under his bare ass. His pants were gone, he realized. He could feel himself leaking, and surmised why they’d been taken off. When he lifted his head, the first thing he saw was Gladio’s back. He looked like he was standing guard. And then Noctis spoke to him, breaking his concentration. He hissed his words under his breath, possibly so Gladio wouldn’t overhear. Maybe Ignis, too, but he couldn’t see where he was.

“Are you finally awake? Prompto, what the _hell_? What did you think you were doing?”

He didn’t react. Or rather, he couldn’t get the words to go from his brain to his mouth. He still didn’t feel right. Noctis didn’t seem to be bothered by this, so he decided not to be either.

“Look, I don’t care what you get up to in your free time as long as it’s not going to kill you, but this _is_ going to kill you. We’re going to work it out, you hear me? I’m not letting you do this again. I don’t care what it takes.” 

Prompto nodded vaguely. He heard the earth crunching beneath somebody’s boots, and a few seconds later Ignis kneeled into his vision. Noctis shut his mouth and glanced away, cheeks a blotchy red. He scrubbed his face with his hands, but Prompto had already seen.

“Prompto… You’re probably still not feeling well. I’m afraid it’s going to take some time for the effects of the psychoactive to wear off, but you’ll be alright once it’s taken its course. Then we’ll head back to camp.” 

Prompto nodded again, his mouth working. He still couldn’t speak, but if Ignis said it was okay, then he believed him. He watched the shadows move across the ground with the day, and tried not to think about Noctis crying.

Noctis didn’t talk to him again until they were back at the tent, and everyone else had fallen asleep. Prompto had too, at some point, but Noctis shook him awake to have a conversation that was very much like their last, except it veered away at some point into completely new territory.

“I’m not going to tell you I understand why you’re doing this, but I’ll get you anything you need so you don’t have to do something like that again. I mean it. I don’t care what I have to do. But there has to be a way…”

He sounded so desperate. Prompto figured he was right to. But he was kind of afraid to ask what he meant when he said that. He imagined being thrown into a pen full of Havocfang and fucked to death. It probably wasn’t what Noctis meant. 

“But I won’t let you do this again. Do you hear me?” 

Prompto didn’t answer right away. There was shuffling sound from next to him, and then he was being grabbed by his shoulders and slammed down onto his back. Noctis stared into his face, his lips pulled back over his teeth. They shone in the faint light. Prompto’s stare was impassive.

“Just forget about it, Noct. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Would you just tell me what you want? I’m sorry if I hurt you, but—”

“That’s not what this is about!”

Guilt flashed across Noct’s face in the silence that followed. Prompto felt it too. Something in his expression changed. He looked more present, but unhappy about it. 

“It’s nobody’s fault. But… I don’t think anything is going to fix this.”

“Why can’t you just try?”

He pressed his lips together and thought about it for a moment. He felt Noct’s fingers digging into his upper arms, and the little rocks beneath him digging into his back.

“I guess I can try.

What do you want me to do?” 

“Isn’t this about what you want?” 

“No. I mean, yeah, but I don’t know. It’ll be better if I just do what you tell me to.”

Noct seemed to consider it. He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t look like he had any better ideas. Slowly, he nodded, eyes averted. 

“Okay. I’ll try my best.”

Prompto nodded too, and Noctis seemed to remember that he still had him by the shoulders. He rolled back over onto his sleeping bag, hands folded loosely over his stomach, and stared up at the canopy. But his gaze couldn’t keep from Prompto for long; Prompto, who was laying with his arms outside his sleeping bag, skinny wrists peeking out from his quarter-sleeve shirt. It was one of Noct’s, actually. There’d been blood all over Prompto’s when they found him.

“Noct…?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Oh. Uh… Let me sleep on it, okay?”

“Alright.”

The morning after, they drove to the next stop over. Ignis talked like it was because they needed to restock, and to a certain extent that was true. They were out of smelling salts, and running low on other things. But there was no need to stay at the hotel, and yet they booked one anyway. He slept for a while after they brought their things inside, and when he woke up, there were some fresh clothes waiting for him, neatly folded on the table. Ignis must have bought them, because when he put them on, they fit as well as if he’d picked them out himself. 

The four of them ate dinner together, take-out that Gladio had picked up, and nobody talked about what happened. It seemed to be by mutual agreement that they pretended he had been hurt the way they commonly were on hunts, scrapes and bruises, the occasional laceration, a concussion, or a broken bone or two. He both appreciated it, and sort of wanted to scream his lungs raw, but every so often he met Noct’s eyes, and the way he looked at him made him want to scream slightly less. 

Another day passed before Noctis told him what he wanted him to do.

“I think we should have sex.”

“Uh…”

“Hear me out, okay? You need a safe way to get this out of your system, right?”

“W-well, I mean…”

“And it’s a lot better than what you did.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Anything was better than what he had done. He thought about having sex with Noct, thought about what had happened between them before, and felt himself stir faintly. But he couldn’t help the suspicion it wouldn’t be enough for the two of them to just agree to it. It was a sad thought. Before all this happened, he’d wondered about it a lot. Not just having sex with Noct, but being with him. It was something he’d tried to put behind him after the treaty was announced, and he was still pretty sure Noct was a lot more interested in Lady Lunafreya than in him, but it occupied his thoughts from time to time with the what-if.

As though Noct would ever look to him for anything more than a quick fuck. Stupid.

It was beside the point, anyway. That wasn’t the problem.

“You’re right. But I need you to do something, and I… don’t think you’ll like it.”

“What do you mean?”

Prompto crossed his arms over his stomach and curled his fingers around his elbows. Lately, he always felt faintly sick.

“Noct… I want you to pretend you’re forcing me when we do it.”

“Oh.” 

“I know you wouldn’t do something like that, but, but I—”

“Stop. You don’t have to explain it,” Noct’s brows furrowed. “I probably wouldn’t understand anyway.”

He couldn’t disagree with that either.

\---

It was easy to choose the place, since they had the hotel room at their disposal, but harder to agree on the time. Ignis and Gladio came and went as they pleased, so there wouldn’t be any way to guarantee they wouldn’t be interrupted. Ultimately, they made the agreement, that since they were sharing a bed anyway, the best time would be under the cover of night, when Ignis and Gladio were asleep. It carried some risk, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about being walked in on in broad daylight, or kicked out of the bathroom. 

Noctis probably would have taken a longer time to work up to it if their plans hadn’t been largely dependent on the hotel room. But they were, so, the night after, he covered Prompto’s mouth with his hand, pulled down his sleep pants, and forced himself inside him. Prompto struggled against it, unsure if he really meant it or if he was just playing along, but it didn’t matter. He came, and Noctis kept going all the way through into a second orgasm. When he finished, he pulled up his pants and let him make a mess of them. 

He felt so good he thought he might be sick all over the mattress, but he wasn’t. 

\--

His friends said he had a death wish, and he had to concede that they were right. Sometimes he thought he might want Noctis to be the one to do it. To push him away in disgust with such violence that he broke apart. Cut the remains into meat and feed it to the dogs he wanted to fuck him. 

He also thought Ignis and Gladio could do it well enough, reading off his list of crimes before sending him to be executed for treason. It was hard for him to imagine either of them doing it themselves. They’d never feel that strongly about him over anything.

Other times, he considered going into the wilderness all on his own and letting the dogs have fresh meat instead of scraps. But he could never go through with it. It was something about the way Noctis looked at him. Like staring, inhuman eyes behind lank, stringy hair. Like an animal that wanted nothing more than to eat.

Maybe he didn't mind being eaten.


End file.
